


a little vision at the start and the end

by cinderellasfella



Series: what the water gave me [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drowning, First Meetings, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Relationship, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderellasfella/pseuds/cinderellasfella
Summary: The brightest light a man will ever see is the one he glimpses as death comes for him, or so everyone says.To a certain extent, Steve can readily attest to that fact.





	a little vision at the start and the end

They never should have stayed out at sea. Over and over, the fact rings in Steve’s ears, mocking him as the icy rain pounds a merciless beat on the back of his neck. Even if they’d been right and the clouds had stayed on the horizon, the merest hint of trouble should have been reason enough to call it a day and head back home.

But Sam and Bucky had been all for it. The catches have been pretty good for the past few days, better than they’ve been all month. “The summer’s not gonna last much longer,” Bucky had reasoned. “Might as well strike while the iron’s still hot.” And Steve, against the better reason itching in the back of his mind, had found himself quite willing to agree with them. They barely break even on their good days as it is; the pay from a few extra hauls certainly won’t go astray once the winter rolls in and the catches grow leaner.

So they’d settled upon it, disregarding the inky black smudges on the horizon. “Risk nothing, gain nothing,” he’d told himself with a confidence he didn’t quite feel, one hand steady on the wheel as the little trawler headed out into deeper waters.

“Come the fuck _ON_!!”

Jolted sharply back to the present, Steve shakes his head against the sheets of rain; the boat isn’t going to secure itself. “What’s the problem?” he yells over the storm, staggering across the deck to where Sam’s crouched by the winch. 

“What _isn’t_ the problem, that’s the easier question!” Sam’s doing his best to root about in the gearbox, but between the pitching of the deck beneath them and the relentless downpour, it’s an uphill battle. “I don’t think there’s any saving it this time, Steve, we’re gonna have to pull them in ourselves.”

Steve runs his hands through his hair, cursing to himself. Dragging the nets back up by hand is going to be hell, even without factoring in the raging squalls. But they can’t lose those nets. Add to that the costs of a replacement winch once they get back… they should have turned right back around that morning. “Alright,” he finally says, shoulders sagging in resignation under the onslaught. “I’ll make a start on it, run into the cabin and see if Bucky’s okay at the wheel for now.”

Sam’s answer of assent is whipped away on a screaming gust of wind, and Steve hauls himself up onto the side of the outrigger as he lurches back towards the light of the cabin. The ropes are swollen with rain, the rough grain chafing as he starts to pull at the nets up hand over hand. Inch by agonizing inch, the nets start to emerge from the black-blue depths, their empty state like a taunt ringing in his ears. “At least it can’t get much worse,” he mutters to himself, his thoughts already turning towards a lonely evening of trying to warm himself by the fire.

Probably not the wisest thing to say, in hindsight.

He never sees the wave that sweeps him over the edge coming. There’s a split second for his stomach to flip, an echo of Sam roaring out his name, and then he’s under.

He’d thought the storm above was out of control - after a couple of seconds, he could almost laugh in derision of his own naivety. All around him is pure, roiling  _force_ , laced with a vicious iciness that steals right down to the bone, almost plucking the little air he has right out of his chest. _Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic_ \- the thought races around his head in time with the blood pounding in his ears. Floundering and wasting energy will only kill him faster, he _knows_ this,  but already he can feel an iron grip pressing none too gently down on his lungs as he’s bowled over once again. He needs to act fast.

He starts kicking and swimming, praying that he’s not just imagining the muffled sounds of the wind and rain growing louder as he moves through the water. Evidently, something or someone hears him; a great gasp rips itself from his chest as his head breaks the surface. Too late he realises his mistake, water already flooding in with every breath to set his throat and lungs alight, and it’s all he can do to barely keep his head above water before his choking convulsions send him under again.

The boat’s already further away than he’d thought, and gaining distance every time he manages to bob back up. He thinks he can hear screaming between submersions. It could be one of the guys, calling out as they look for him. Or Steve himself, desperately trying to be heard over the wind and booming swells. Thoughts keep piling up and tangling before he has a chance to make sense of what’s happening. But any ideas of how he’s going to make it back are wiped away, terror locking his joints at the sight of another wave bearing down on him; before he has time to get a breath in, he’s pushed back under again, deeper than ever.

Over and over, head over heels, he can feel himself cartwheeling through the currents. Even with the muted grey light filtering through, it’s almost impossible to tell up from down. He tries again to find his way back to air, but there’s already water in his lungs. A scant few seconds is all he can manage before instinct takes over and he tries to inhale. The sea swallows his cries, vast and uncaring as his lungs, his nose, his entire body burns up in agony. The more he struggles, the faster he takes in water, cold and choking, like fingers of ice reaching down his throat.

Little by little, his movements still as his limbs grow heavier, his lungs burning with every spasm. The water seems to be darkening around him - he can’t have been under that long, he thinks deliriously, it's still barely past morning - and the colder he gets, the more detached he feels from his predicament, his own body. Like he’s a stranger on the outside, watching a ragdoll be dragged to and fro by the currents. Nothing seems to matter anymore.

Maybe… maybe it won’t be so bad. Dying. It’s not like he’s got much to live for, or many he’ll leave behind to miss him. No family to speak of, with Ma long gone. Bucky and Sam will be crushed, but they have their own lives and circles of support. They’ll learn to heal in time, with people who’d surely miss them if either of them were in his shoes. But Steve Rogers? He’ll lift right out of the picture with hardly anybody in the world noticing. _It’s probably better this way_. The thought rises through his mind like a shimmering air bubble from the depths, soft and reassuring. 

There’s some distant part of his mind still screaming, banging against the walls of encroaching darkness, but he just can’t help it. The water doesn’t even feel that cold anymore; if anything, it’s like he’s a child again, wrapped up in warm blankets on a sick day. Right down to the breathing difficulties. He can almost feels Ma’s arms around him, wonders if maybe she’ll read him just one more story. If he looks up, he’ll see those warm eyes of hers gazing right back at him. Like a day hasn’t passed since she died.

Stupid as the idea seems, it gives him just enough strength to lift his head back towards the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of those eyes again.

And, to be fair, he almost gets what he was looking for, though it takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing. A pair of sky-blue eyes, looking right at him. _Studying_  him from behind bushy whiskers, and filled with something an awful lot like concern. One of the local seals has come to inspect the intruder in their domain.

He gets the overwhelming urge to giggle, even with his chest burning, his head full of cotton. At least he’s not going out alone.

It takes a few moments, but gradually he becomes aware that he’s moving. _They’re_ moving, a warm, bulky form supporting him as powerful fins propel them onwards. He feels silk-slick fur under his fingers, a whiskery nose tickling down the line of his neck. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d almost say it was checking for his pulse. But before he can consider any further, an almighty _whooshing_ makes his head spin as it breaks the surface once again. Eyes scrunched up against the sudden sting of light after the darkness, he clutches onto the seal’s side, coughing and choking as they close the last of the distance to the boat’s hull.

The second his scrabbling hands find purchase on the boat’s side, the warmth along his side vanishes. He twists around, pain lancing through his head at the sudden motion, just in time to see the seal cleaving a path through the heaving waves, golden brown fur like a beacon against the surrounding inky black. As if sensing his gaze, its head suddenly whips around, and Steve finds himself transfixed by those piercing blue eyes once again. 

For the briefest beat, it seems like the creature might turn back altogether. Almost as if it’s reluctant to leave him. And for all his barely conscious state and the storm still raging around them, Steve would be lying if he said there wasn’t something urging him to swim out and meet his rescuer. Like a length of string, spooling out into the distance between them, still holding them together. But the spell is broken when the seal’s gaze darts upwards to the deck, moments before it dives into a cresting swell. The flick of its tail is the last thing Steve sees before hands start grabbing at his shirt and shoulders.

“ _Steve?!_ Steve, we got you! Sam, come on, grab a hold!”

There’s a blur of motion, arms around his chest as he’s pulled upwards, and then all at once he’s on his side and choking up half the damn ocean onto the reassuringly solid cabin floor. Bucky’s face drifts in and out of focus, pinched and white with fear, as he’s dragged out of his clothes, thick blankets and jackets piled on top of him, one after the other. All the while, Sam’s voice rings out just beyond his line of sight, hollering for the coast guard’s station as he turns the boat homewards as fast as they can manage. From there, it’s all a haze until he feels himself being lifted onto a stretcher, fingers probing and checking him while he’s wrapped up all over again.

Of course, there’s the question of how he made it back to the boat. Bucky and Sam, the paramedics, the crowds of nosy fishermen flocking to the commotion - not one of them can understand how he could have swum the distance back to the boat in his condition, never mind the storm. By all accounts, he ought to have been dead before he’d made it halfway back to the surface.

Steve knows he didn’t imagine the seal. He might easily have just been hallucinating in his final moments, and Sam and Bucky swear up and down that he was alone in the water when they pulled him up. It's entirely possible, he'll admit it. But the nose burrowing anxiously into his pulse point, the penetrating gaze that had observed his last moments of struggling… those, he knows couldn’t have dreamed up.

But his bones feel as though they’re made of lead, a dull ache throbbing its way through every inch of his body. And even if he were in the mood to be questioning his own sanity, he knows that there’s a time and a place to look a gift horse in the mouth. So he sinks back into the stretcher, soft as a king-size mattress to his aching body, and puts the seal and its blue eyes out of his mind for now.

He never sees those same blue eyes, watching him from the shadows of the pier. Waiting until the ambulance winds its way back towards town, before sinking back into the depths with much to think about.

Nor does he see them when he returns to the sea a week later. A little frail-looking and a good deal more cautious, but no less willing to laugh and joke with his companions as they go about their work. Heedless of the selkie he beguiles with every smile, every song he murmurs to himself.

That doesn’t stop Steve from recognizing them two months later, when a knock on the door one stormy evening heralds the first of Thor’s many visits.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I'm back!
> 
> So sorry for the delay, I'm hoping to be a bit better about my writing this year. Hope you all enjoyed this, reviews will be deeply appreciated :)
> 
> Title from Florence and the Machine's 'Breath of Life.'


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